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POEMS 



BY 

DAVID M. CORY 




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Two Copies lieceivea 

DEC 27 1904 

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Copyright, 1904 

BY 

DAVID M. CORY 



DEDICATION 

To thee, O rapacious Scrap-Basket ! 
To thee, who oft holdest in scorn 
The hopes, aspirations, and longings 
Of many a poet that is born 

"Non-fit" 
To woo and to win the coy Muse, 
I dedicate all this refuse ! 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

In War Time 3 

A-Comin' Hum 4 

Our Toast 5 

Vox POPULI 6 

Here 's to You, Mr. Hobson ! 7 

When the Chores is Done 8 

Jenny 9 

The World Asleep 13 

To My Mother 14 

Good-Byes 16 

The Old-Fashioned Way ... ... 17 

Dreamland 18 

Apple blossoms 19 

Mediocrity 21 

Transformation 22 

The Miser 23 

Two Roses 24 

The Dream Kiss 25 

Marjorie 26 

The Legend of Castine 27 

The Mermaid 28 

Nocturne 30 

Spring 31 

Summer 32 

Autumn 33 

Winter 34 

Vacation 36 

To the Misses Fickle 37 

To M. M. L 38 

To W. W 39 

At Flanders 40 



IV CONTENTS 

PAGE 

To E. W 41 

End of Vacation 42 

To E. W 43 

There Are Others . 44 

Winter Roses 45 

Where There's A Will 46 

To My Sweetheart 47 

Autumn Roses 48 

An X-cellent Way 49 

A Wish 50 

Has It Come to This? 51 

To Mademoiselle 52 

Smoky Fancies 53 

One on Me 54 

One on Him 55 

Susan 56 

The Night before Xmas 57 

A Dear Little Thing 58 

Modesty 59 

Love at College 60 

Alas ! 61 

My Little Fashion Saint 62 

Sing a Song of Noakes' 63 

To Fedora . . .64 

Phylis 65 

The Flirt 66 

Reminiscences 67 

Love's Bargain 69 

A Modern Rapunsel 70 

The Rivals 71 

My Heir 72 

Cupid's Miss 73 

The Modern Girl 74 

Why? 75 

An Unconscious Proposal 76 

Rockaway 77 

To Lita 78 

February 14 79 

The First Valentine 80 



CONTENTS V 

PAGB 

Hearts 8i 

An Experimknt 83 

To Beatrice 84 

Mirage 85 

Transplanted 86 

George du Maurier 88 

First Love 89 

Like as the Troubled Waves go 

Oliver Wendell Holmes gi 

And Yet 92 

What 's the Use 93 

A Memory 95 

Despair 96 

The Master Artist 97 

At the Confessional g8 

Recognition gg 

Ad Finem 100 

Maud loi 

Desolation 102 

Love's Season 103 

Allurement 104 

Afterwards 105 

Wooing-Time 107 

All the Year Round 108 

Falling Heavenward 109 

Night , .110 

The Rainbow in 

Worldlings 112 

To A Flirt 113 

An Autumn Day 114 

Thoughts 115 

Inspiration 116 

Sonnet 117 

Redeemed iiS 

Dreamers 119 



POEMS 



IN WAR TIME 

O SUMMER Wind with soft, warm sighs, 
My heart is sighing, too. 
O pale wan Moon, in dim, gray skies, 
See you my Lad in Blue ? 

Last night I heard the whippo'will, 

But who has changed his tune ? 
No longer now a silvery thrill 

Beneath a silvery moon. 

His shrill notes echoed in the glade, 

And ever in my dream 
It sounded like the fife that played 

Amidst the steel's cold gleam. 

The breeze-blown boughs beat strange tattoos 

Upon the answering wall; 
Try as I might I could not choose 

But hear the wild drum's call. 

O Lady Moon, watch o'er my love! 

O Winds, blow soft and true! 
And safe upon the battlefield 

God keep my Lad in Blue. 



A-COMIN' HUM 

MY boy 's a-comin' hum at last! 
I hardly can keep still. 
To think that Tom is almost here 
Clean takes away my will. 

The farm is runnin' by itself, 

The chores is left undone, 
The weeds hev almost choked the corn 

A-reachin' for the sun. 

It seems like years since last I heard 
Him whistlin* down the lane. 

I want to hear him holler " Dad! " 
An' see his smile again. 

I can't do nuthin' now but sit 

An' listen for his drum. 
The war is over, thank the Lord ! 

An' Tom 's a-comin' hum. 



OUR TOAST 

FILL the bumper up, my boys, 
Dewey and his men! 
Make a patriotic noise, 
Cheer and cheer again! 

Down with Spain! Her yellow rag 

Trample in the dust! 
Hoist the Stars and Stripes — our flag 

Leads a cause that 's just. 

Cuba now will soon be free, 

Tyranny shall cease. 
O'er the flag of Liberty 

Shine the star of peace ! 

Fill the bumper up again — 

Dewey is our toast! 
Throw away the craven pen, 

Make the sword our boast! 

Hoist Old Glory o'er our head! 

Here 's to every star! 
Cheer the blue, the white, the red. 

And every gallant tar! 



vox POPULI 

THE stars and stripes a canopy o'erhead, 
Beneath, throughout the land, the tramp of feet; 

In one grand mighty throng our brothers meet 
To right the wrong. One purpose can be read: 
Avenge our country and our martyred dead! 

Down! down, with him who 'd have us now retreat 

To safe diplomacy and bring defeat 
Upon our undimmed valor! Better dead 

Were we and rotting on a well-fought field 
Than like a coward sit while murderous Spain 

The blood of Cuba spills. Are we to yield 
For fear of selfish loss? We shall not gain 
By deeds like this; our flag we only stain 

And dim the stars upon its azure shield. 



HERE 'S TO YOU, MR. HOBSON! 

MR. HOBSON, Mr. Hobson, 
When you sunk the Merrimac 
In Santiago Harbor, 

Held the Spaniards in a trap, 
We thought it just the bravest thing 

That any man could do. 
And we cheered you, Mr. Hobson, 
And the world cheered with us, too. 

But, Hobson, Mr. Hobson, 

When a line of blushing misses 
Stands ready to salute you 

With their patriotic kisses. 
We think it just the bravest thing 

To stand there as you do — 
And we 'd like to help you, Hobson, 

If we had the courage to. 

So here 's to hero Hobson, 

Who sunk the Merrimac ! 
And, again, to hero Hobson, 

Who gets the merrie smack ! 



WHEN THE CHORES IS DONE 

THE road is a windin' dusty one, 
An' marked by a rickerty line 
Of fence-rails hid by goldenrod 
An' clamberin' ros'berry vine. 

The chaise is a derned old creakin' thing, 

But the gal inside is fair, 
An' the lips are red that chirrup "git-ap " 

To Betsey, the old gray mare. 

An' life at the farm would be twicet as hard, 

From risin' to settin' sun, 
Ef 't warn't that those lips were pursed for a kiss 

When the evenin' chores is done. 



JENNY 

JENNY churns the cream to butter 
In the dairy by the spring. 
Of'n I creep up to listen, 

Jes' to hear her sing, 
Wile she keeps the dasher goin' 

Clunsch-clunsch in the yeller cream; 
Thrush ain't in it fer a minit — 
It 's sweeter 'n a dream. 

Both her sleeves are tucked up high, 

An' her arms are w'iter 
Than the skimmed milk settin' by. 

Cream 's a-gittin' tighter; 
Jenny keeps the dasher, though, 

Goin' jes' ez reg'lar, 
Clunsch-clunsch in the cream below. 

Gee ! her arms are awful strong, 
She don't seem to mind it, 

Fer she 's singin' all along. 

" Can't I help you some? " sez I, 
Makin' b'lieve I 'm passin' by, 
Wen the holl time I have ben 
Thru a knot-hole peekin' in. 
Jenny looks up from her work ; 
Gins her head a sarsy jerk. 

9 



lO JENNY 

My! pooty 's a picter, she, 
Standin' there 'longside the churn, 
With thet yeller hair o' hern 
Shinin' in the mornin' sun, 
An' her bare arms rizzed in fun, 
Holdin' the dasher like a gun, 
An' a-sayin', with sparklin' eye, 
" Halt! I 'm goin' to shoot a spy ! " 

Jenny drives the cows home nights 

Wen the swamp-frog 's trummin'. 
Jenny's laugh and tinklin' bells, 
Ringin' 'cross the medder, tells 

Me she 's a-comin'. 
Restin' here I stan' an' wait, 
Leanin' 'gin the creakin' gate. 

On the rail a-drummin'. 
An' w'ile a-waitin', all along, 
Jenny's laugh, jes' like a song, 

In my heart 's a-hummin'. 

Jenny 's oilers laughin' 

An' pokin' fun at me; 

Callin' me a "silly feller " 

Wen I sez "Your ha'r 's ez yeller 

Ez the cowslips in the medder; 

An' your lips, I swan, are redder 

'N the leetle wil' strawberry 

In the fiel's." " Go 'long! " sez she, 

"You!" But her eyes 

(Bluer 'n buzzin' bottle-flies) 

Turn away. Then I git bold, 

Roun' her waist I ketch a hold, 



JENNY II 

Snetch a kiss, then off I run. 

Jenny only laughs, and sez. 

As she shuts the kitchen door, 

" You 're easy scairt — might hed more 

Ef you 'd on'y waited! " 

So I hang upon the gate. 
'N then I hear her wheel a whirrin', 
Wile I Stan' outside an' wait, 
Wishin' thet I hed hed more; 
An' at last I push the door. 

"Jenny," I sez, hesitatin', 

Arter lookin' quite a spell, 

" Would you be willin' to — wal — 

Spin fny yarn fer me ? " 

Jenny makes the wheel hum louder 

Than a bumbly-bee; 

An* her cheeks they git ez red 

Ez pineys in the flower-bed. 

" Won't you ? " sez I, closer comin', 

" Oilers spin my yarn fer me ? " 

An' tho' that derned old pesky 

Wheel is makin' sech a hummin', 

I think I hear her say "Mebbe .'" 



Me an' Jenny hev ben married 

Nigh outer a year. 
Of'n I look back an' wonder 

How we steered so clear; 
'Pears ez tho' we oilers hed ben, 

Jenny 's sech a dear. 



12 JENNY 

An' the baby, mos' ez fair 
Ez its mother, I declare: 
Jenny's eyes an' yeller hair, 
Cunnin' laugh, an' silky cheeks 
Red ez beeches 'long the creeks. 
I 'd rother set an' watch 'em 
Nights a-rockin' in the cheer 
Than git the fust prize fer the 
Cattle at the County Fair. 

" Jem," sez Jenny, " ain't he cunnin ' ? 

Watch him kick his feet an' crow." 

" Come to dad," sez I to baby. 

" Hoi' him right! " sez she, " jes' so! " 

Baby he don't care a nickle 

How you hoi' him, though. 

" Keep him keerful now," sez she, 

"Wile I git the cradle fixt. 

Watch him close, he 's up to tricks." 

" Hoopsy-daisy, dad's own baby! " 

Baby laughs an' crows an' kicks. 

" Put him in reel tender, Jem," 

An' then she tucks him in. 

" Good-night, my baby! " soft sez she, 

A-lookin' up so sarsily — 

" Wal, baby 's yourn, " sez I, 

" So long ez Jenny b'longs to me! " 



THE WORLD ASLEEP 

LIKE sentinels the watchful elms 
In sturdy grandeur stand. 
In armor green they move between 
The sky and sleeping land. 

The quiet stars their vigils keep; 

And o'er the silvery moon 
Their laces trace in flimsy grace 

The mists from swamp and dune. 

Beneath her drowsy, brooding wing 
Calm Night has silenced all 

The clamors rude; 't is solitude 
Save for the gray bat's call. 

The world 's asleep, the sun away, 
Till Time brings forth another day. 



13 



TO MY MOTHER 

I CANNOT feel that I 've outgrown 
A loving mother's care — 
A tender guiding hand to know, 
Unselfish love to share. 

Tho' wasted moments I have let 

Unthinking glide away, 
Fruitless of little acts of love 

A thoughtful son should pay. 

Such happy memories are mine 
That backward take their flight — 

I feel you leaning over me 
To kiss me sweet good-night. 

Sweet warm rose cheeks, and heaven's eyes 

A wreath of silver hair — 
My boyhood's days know but one face 

Crowned with love's flowers fair. 

From honor's code and love of God 

You never let me part. 
Thro' trials met on life's hard road 

You cheered my troubled heart. 
14 



TO MY MOTHER 15 

Your face to-day has all the bloom 

It had when I was young — 
Your voice, the same sweet melody 

When lullabies were sung. 

And while I hold your hand in mine, 

Tho' father now I be, 
I love to think I 'm still the boy 

Who prayed upon your knee. 



GOOD-BYES 

THE sky is like the soft gray veil 
That hides my Lady's face; 
The glories of the summer 
Have left a lingering grace. 

A lazy, mazy atmosphere 

Hangs 'twixt the earth and sky, 
And all is silence, save at times 

The wild crow's distant cry; 

A murmur from the woodland, 
A dreamy, drowsy breeze; 

The swan-song of the summer 
Thro' the red and yellow leaves. 

A few late roses deck the fence 
That straggles by the road ; 

They seem like spirits now returned 
To haunt their June abode. 

The time is fraught with parting — 
The parting of the ways — 

Good-bye, sweet-scented summer, 
Farewell, dear dreamy days. 



i6 



THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY 

AN old-fashioned garden, 
An old-fashioned girl, 
An old-fashioned bonnet, 
An old-fashioned curl — 
Just peeping beneath — 

Of old-fashioned brown; 

An old-fashioned kerchief, 

An old-fashioned gown. 

An old-fashioned walk 

To an old-fashioned gate; 
An old-fashioned whisper, 

"Why, darling, you 're late." 
An old-fashioned pressure 

Of slim finger tips; 
Old-fashioned kisses 

On sweet trembling lips. 

An old-fashioned question, 

An old-fashioned doubt. 
An old-fashioned answer, 

A blush and a pout. 
An old-fashioned wedding, 

An old-fashioned bride, 
Old-fashioned sorrows 

And joys to divide. 

l'envoi 
And it 's not out of fashion — 

Not even to-day — 
To love and be loved 

In this old-fashioned way. 
17 



DREAMLAND 

THRO' Slumber Valley in Dreamland, 
Where the roses blush and sigh, 
Wanders a maiden called Sweet Dreams, 
A-singing a lullaby. 

Above, on a dreary mountain. 

In a dark and dismal cave, 
Lies the Ogre, Bad Dreams, snoring 

Like a roaring ocean wave. 

Would you rather wander, my darling. 
When you 've closed your eyes in sleep. 

Among the roses with Sweet Dreams, 
Or climb up the mountain steep 

To the gloomy cave where Bad Dreams 

Snores with a terrible sound, 
Till the mountain shakes and trembles 

And the bats whirr round and round ? 

You would rather wander with Sweet Dreams ? 

I thought, little one, you would; 
And,to-night you shall pluck the roses 

If all day long you are good. 



i8 



APPLE BLOSSOMS 

UNDER the apple-tree we swung; 
Above the fragrant blossoms hung, 
White and pink, pink and white. 
She seemed a blossom, too, I thought, 
As she swung by my side as light 
As rosy petal in leafy bed, 
With her cheeks of pink and fair white throat. 
Her pretty head 

Nodded and swayed as we swung and swung. 
Lazily up and lazily down; 
Back and forth in the scented air 
Under the trembling blossoms fair. 

Swing low, my love. 

My blossom sweet. 
At the end of each swing 

Our lips shall meet. 

Swing high, my love. 
Swing low, my love; 
I '11 cradle your head 
Like a dreamy dove, 
While we touch the blossoms 

Pink and white, 
And fall again to earth 

In our flight; 
19 



20 APPLE BLOSSOMS 

When we press once more the 

Blossoms pink, 
And back again to the 

Earth we sink. 

Swing low, my love. 
My blossom sweet. 

At the end of each swing 
Our lips shall meet. 



MEDIOCRITY 

THE song that sweet from his fancies sprung 
Oft rose to his lips, but ne'er was sung; 
The music that throbbed in his anxious brain 
Charmed never an ear with its sad refrain; 
The love in his heart that budded and bloomed 
Was unrequited, then silently tombed; 
And the prize he sought he never won, 
Tho' hard he strove till his work was done; 
No epitaph stands for the world to scan, — 
He was only an ordinary man. 



TRANSFORMATION. 

IN the church on Easter 
Esther sat demure, 
Like a calla lily, 

Graceful and as pure. 

Little gilt-edged prayer-book- 
Far too small for use — 

Read she most intently — 
Was it just a ruse ? 

Looking up in prayer- time 
O'er the oaken pew, 

Found myself encountering 
Esther's eyes of blue. 

Then a transformation, 
White was changed to red, 

And my Easter lily 
Was a rose instead. 



THE MISER 

GATHER ye roses while ye may — 
I gathered my roses yesterday; 
But now they are faded and soon will die. 
Some should have been left on the stem ; but I 
Was too eager to save them all from decay. 



23 



TWO ROSES 

I STAND in her garden, 
Her garden of flowers, 
And pluck a white rose. 
Brush a thorn from the stem. 
And I think of our meetings, 
The swift, happy hours — 
I think of them 
Over and over again. 

I stand in the churchyard, 
The garden of death, 
And I kneel by her grave 
Where the tall grasses part; 
And I lay a white rose 
With its pure fragrant breath 
Just over her heart. 
Where the first rose had lain. 



24 



THE DREAM KISS 

I LOVE her since I kissed her in my dream. 
I knew not what love was till in the deep 
And silent darkness of the night I felt 
The tremor of her lips like winds that sweep 
Across rose leaves with cadence soft and sweet. 



25 



MARJORIE 

LITTLE maid of winsome three, 
As you sit upon my knee 
Looking, oh, so wistfully, 

Up at me; 
What do those dark eyes of thine, 
Full of innocence divine. 
See in this old face of mine, 
Marjorie ? 

Father Time with daily care 
Has been ever busy there. 
Marring youth that once was fair, 

Marjorie. 
Tell me what you see, my dear. 
As I hold you fast and near, 
Lots of wrinkles, odd and queer — 

Marjorie ? 

Little hands with soft caress 

Gently cheeks of grandpa press; 

With sweet childhood's grace they bless 

Eighty-three. 
Dear, ruthless Time can ne'er efface 
Nor take from love its tender grace; 
So love you see in grandpa's face, 

Marjorie ? 



26 



THE LEGEND OF CASTINE 

HAVE you heard the legend of old Castine, 
A town that was finished long ago ; 
The home of the ancient Tarrantine, 
Seat of their chief, Modockawando ? 

A sleepy old town that once was rife 

With the sound of cannon and musket-ball, 

Where Yankee and Briton met in strife 

'Round old Fort George, now a crumbling wall. 

The story goes that the British, hard pressed, 
Surrendered the fort and set sail from the bay; 

And, in their hurry, forgot they had left 

A drummer-boy locked in the dungeon gray. 

In the budding spring, in after-years, 

'Mid the crumbling walls where nest-birds come. 
And the wild rose smiles thro' her April tears, 

They found his skeleton bent o'er his drum. 

And the people of Castine, every year, 

On April fifteenth, from the dungeon wall. 

Hear ghostly drum-beats; and, half in fear, 
Hark to the roll of his phantom drum-call. 



27 



THE MERMAID 

I SAW in the waves a pair of eyes, 
A pair of mermaid's eyes. 
They gazed at me with sweet surprise, 
With sweet surprise they gazed. 
And a soft voice came from the laughing wave, 
" Come to my arms, be not afraid, be brave, 
O timid mortal! 

Plunge into the sea, 
Confide all to me, 

And I will make thee 
The King of the Sea!" 

Her voice like a bell, 
A singing sea-shell, 

Drew me close to the wave; 
And her eyes held mine 
In a spell divine; 

My heart grew hot and brave. 
Her white arms she spread 
On the foamy bed 

Of the rocking blue. 
She called me once more, 
" Come, love, and adore 

Me as I do you! " 

28 



THE MERMAID 29 

Into the laughing waves I leaped. 

Close and fast her fair arms bound me 
To her bosom warm and white. 
Her kisses fell on my gasping lips, 
And her tresses wound around me. 
She held me close 

Till my struggling breath 
She kissed away 

With her lips of death. 

My senses wandered away, far away. 
Was it her kisses, or was it the spray ? 
Her clinging arms that held me tight 
Were cold as the wings of the waves at night. 
Her voice that wooed like the coo of a shell 
Now rung in my heart like a funeral knell. 
" Maiden!" I gasped, ** Death lurks in the wave! " 
But the voice of the mermaid rang softly, 
" Be brave; 

Confide all to me, 
And I will make thee 
The King of the Sea! " 



NOCTURNE 

THE moon rose o'er the mountain, 
And shed its silvery beams 
Upon the sombre forest 

And the meadow's dimpled streams; 
While the stars of heaven unfolded, 

Like an infant's sleepy eyes, 
From out the clouds that curtained 
Round the cradle of the skies — 
And silence reigned. 

Then Aurora from the eastward 
Climbed up the mountains steep. 

And folded up in rosy clouds 
The little stars to sleep — 
And morning broke. 



30 



SPRING 

THE South Wind 's a-kissing the buds on the trees, 
The crocus is lifting its head thro' the ground, 
The smell of the marshes blows freshened and sweet. 

The robins are singing the orchard around ; 
For springtime is here and summer '11 soon come. 

The ploughed fields and hillsides lie warm 'neath the 
sun, 

The cattle are cropping the wild growing grasses, 
The brorok thro' the meadow is laughing in fun 

As the ferns nod their heads to its tune as it passes, 
While the bullfrog keeps trumming away on his drum. 

The woods are beginning to dress up in green. 
The maple with red buds is blossoming gay. 

And love in the spring, when it is sixteen, 
Is blossoming, too, in its own sweet way! 



31 



SUMMER 

OTHE days of June, 
With their hazy tune 
Of bees 'mid clover roving; 
And the scent of flowers 
Thro' the sun-kissed hours 
Keeps all the world a-loving. 



32 



AUTUMN 

THRO' the trees the wind is sighing, 
Strewn around the leaves are lying, 
Summer-time is dying, dying; 
Autumn 's here. 

Maples shiver in the blast, 
Shedding rainbow colors fast, 
Autumn 's here and summer 's past; 
All is sere. 

Southward now the swallows flying. 
Hark, we hear the wild crow crying, 
" Summer-time is dying, dying." 
Soon the snow 

Will hush the woods that once were ringing 
With the minstrel breezes singing; 
With the golden sunbeams clinging, 
All aglow. 

Soon, like leaves, we '11 drift away, 
When has passed our summer day; 
When in autumn, old and gray, 
We bind our sheaves. 

Ah, too soon 
Speeds away our summer-time. 
Vanishes our golden prime. 
To the mournful autumn rhyme 
Of falling leaves 

Out of tune. 



33 



WINTER 

HOARY winter stands outside a-knocking at the door. 
Draw your chair up closer, lad, and stir the logs 
once more. 
Listen to the woodland songs the burning logs will sing; 
Robin-redbreast nests again amid the budding spring; 
Maples decked in peeping red buds, and the travailing 

Earth, 
A flower at her bosom, smiles o'er the springtime birth. 

Listen to the wintry blast o'er heath and moorland roar. 

Draw your chair up closer, lad, and stir the logs once 
more. 

The once-glad Earth is sleeping, and all the streams are 
dead; 

The flowers and the grasses with drifted snow o'erhead. 

With naked arms uplifted, the trees like beggars cry 

For warm bud-bringing south wind and sun-kissed sum- 
mer sky. 

Hark, how the north wind and the sleet beat against the 



pane 



Draw your chair up closer, lad, the embers stir again. 
Are you picturing castles gay ere the bright sparks die? 
Dream your happiest day-dreams, lad, — long ago did I. 
Youth sees radiant life and love in the flames of gold ; 
Age sees hope and boyish longings in the ashes cold. 

34 



WINTER 35 

The thoughtful, the mournful time of all the year, my 

lad; 
Winter, to an old man, oft is full of meaning sad. 

Who is that a-knocking impatient at the door ? 

Draw my chair up closer, lad, I feel the cold the more. 



VACATION 

HURRAH for vacation, 
The mountains, the sea! 
A dog-cart or catboat 
My plaything will be. 

Like a babe with his rattle 
I 'm laughing in glee; 

There 's nothing on earth 
Like vacation to me. 

I 'm a kid with a go-cart — 
Toy boat on the lake. 

I 'm living for nothing 
But pleasure's sweet sake. 

And how madly I '11 follow 

Frivolity's wake! 
Summer-girl, are you ready 

My patched heart to break ? 

Then, hurrah! for vacation, 
The mountains, the sea! 

A dog-cart or catboat 
My plaything will be! 



36 



TO THE MISSES FICKLE 

« 

A LONELY crew of two are we, 
Our girls remain behind. 
Our hearts so sad shall yet be glad 
Tho' love be still unkind. 

'T was not our wish to leave the maids, 

But others set the pace; 
A Yale man gay, a pumpkin jay 

Soon forced us out of place. 

And now we wander on alone 

'Neath silver moon and star; 
And whether we shall ever see 

Love's beacon from afar 

Remains with those we 've left behind. 

But if some gloomy night 
Love's flame should beckon from the shore 

To guide our wandering sight, 

Then hard-a-lee and homeward bound; 

The wind is whispering love. 
We have been true to none but you. 

We swear by stars above! 

By the sad sea waves," 

Flanders, L. I., August, 1896. 



37 



TO M. M. L. 

LITTLE Fraulein, 
My peerless queen, 
Light of my eyes, 
Fairest yet seen. 

Down here at Flanders 
You flirt with the men, 

And easily snare them 
Again and again. 

For bait you 're still using 
The glance of your eye; 

The red of your lips, 
Or a passionate sigh. 

Your form it is supple, 
With curves like a wave. 

You *re a peach when in bathing; 
About you they rave. 

They say there are others; 

For me there is none; 
You take the whole bakery, 
Including the bun! 
Flanders, L. I., August, 1896. 



38 



TO W. W. 

DEAR Little Brother: 
Take off those overalls, Bill dear, 
They make you look a trifle queer. 
Each leg is far too short — 't ain't neat; 
There 's too much bagging at the seat. 
Their color was a healthy tan, 
But now it 's on the bum, old man. 
The crease is out, a button gone. 
The starboard pocket 's badly torn. 
One shoulder-strap is almost frayed; 
You '11 have to have another made 
Or else you '11 find them dropping off. 
(I hear your best girl's modest cough.) 
So, brother, get another pair; 
If you 're hard-up, I '11 take a share; 
One leg for you, for me the other; 
So long, dear Bill. 

Your elder 

Brother. 
Flanders, L. I., August, 1896. 



39 



AT FLANDERS 

WE are the crew of the Uno. 
We are the jolly tars, 
We are the boys that can spend the dough, 
And steer by the twinkling stars. 

The moon is our love by night, heave-ho! 

And tho' we 're a bachelor crew, 
We can't get a single girl in tow, 

For Rob is a Bum and Dave a Jew! 



O what is the use of love, anyway ? 

A man is never too old. 
Love is not true — straight tip for you, 

Any girl can be bought for gold. 

All girls are fickle, all girls are false. 

And they never marry for love; 
You can choose any one if you 've plenty of " mun,' 

And she '11 call you her " hubby " and " dove " ! 



40 



TO E. W. 

ELSIE looks out of her window, 
And behind the glistening pane 
Her eyes are full of questioning: 

Is it always going to rain ? 
The sun will shine out, dearest one, 
When summer comes again. 

Then I look up to her window. 

And she sees thro' the moistened pane 

The old, old question in my eyes: 
Is it always going to rain ? 

Will love shine out and be my sun 
When summer comes again ? 

Flanders, L. I., August, 1896. 



41 



END OF VACATION 

THE train is travelling on apace, 
And I, like all the rest, 
Lean back upon the seat and dream ; 
For dreaming now is best. 

And with the aid of Memory dear 

Peconic Bay I trace; 
The meadows green, the bam and house, 

Then each familiar face. 

And I am with you once again; 

How natural all things seem — 
When suddenly I wake to find 

The summer now is but a dream. 

The summer now is but a dream; 

How fast the moments sped! 
And Memory plants forget-me-nots 

Above fond pleasures dead, 

O Time, stay but a moment more, 

For these are happy days ; 
Health lingers on the laughing bay. 

And love hath winsome ways. 



42 



TO E. W. 

WHEN in the summer, dear, gone by 
At Flanders, on the sands, 
The ocean trembling with our love. 
We stood with clasping hands; 

For me no " other pebbles " were; 

I called you " peach " and " pearl " ; 
And vowed I loved none else but you — 

You were my Summer Girl! 

And now that you 've returned to town 

And all the social whirl, 
I often wonder, dear, if you 

AVould be my Winter Girl ! 



43 



THERE ARE OTHERS 

AND so she has refused you, Ned, 
And you have wooed in vain ? 
Cheer up, old fellow, you '11 forget 
When summer comes again. 

Leave her to her coquetries, 

Tho' she be a peach ; 
There are other pebbles, man. 

All along the beach! 



44 



WINTER ROSES 

"/^^OOD-NIGHT, dear girl," and Dollie stands 

\_J. Within the door and poses. 
Before I go, I seize her hands 

And kiss her winter roses. 
Then to the florist next I go 

To buy for her some posies. 
One point I fear 

Is but too clear — 
There 's nothing really half so dear 

As Dollie's winter roses! 



45 



WHERE THERE 'S A WILL 

MARY had a little calf 
(So I have been told!); 
A modest girl was Mary, 
Not the least bit bold. 

So when the cycling fad came out 
She sighed, then quickly said, 

" As bloomers don't become my style, 
I '11 wear long pants instead! " 



46 



TO MY SWEETHEART 

HER smile is like the breaking dawn; 
Her eyes, the sun that opes the morn ; 
Her teeth, like sparkling drops of dew 
That glitter 'gainst the roses' hue; 
Her mouth, the rose that holds the dew; 
Her skin, a lily's purest white; 
Her hair binds wayward sunbeams bright; 
Her cheeks, kissed crimson by Old Sol. 
Who is she ? Why, my old rag-doll ! 



47 



AUTUMN ROSES 

ROSES kissed by summer winds 
Have faded quite away. 
But roses kissed by autumn winds 

Are blooming fair to-day; 
Are blooming fair in Mabel's cheeks 
As tho' the month were May. 



48 



AN X-CELLENT WAY 

SHE would not say she loved me, 
Tho' I begged her oft to tell; 
Tho' oft her scarlet lips I prest 
'Neath love's ecstatic spell. 

She would not say she loved me ; 

I began to pine and fret. 
No wonder that I thought my 

Maud was playing the coquette. 

My heart with love was burning 
And my brain was in a whirl; 

When would I get an answer 

From my love, the self-willed girl ? 

I pondered o'er the matter 
Till at last one happy day 

A brilliant idea struck me — 
I '11 employ the new X-ray! 

That night I photographed her heart 
And found she loved me true; 

But when I told her of it 

She laughed, and said she knew 

That any one could guess it — 
' ' Why, any fool but you ! ' ' 



49 



A WISH 

ROSES come, and roses go, 
But I know 
Where twin roses always blow : 
In Carrie's cheeks. 

Summer comes, and summer dies, 

But summer skies 
Always smile in Carrie's eyes. 

Would those roses bloomed for me, 
And my skies above might be 
Carrie's eyes. 



50 



HAS IT COME TO THIS ? 

SHE has taken all my collars; 
My neckties, too, have flown. 
She 's hardly left a thing, by gad, 
That I can call my own. 

My shirt-studs on the bureau were, 
But now, O where are they ? 

My link-studs and my scarf-pins, too, 
She swiped the other day. 

Last week she took a dress-shirt. 
She says her collarettes don't fit. 

And now I 'm wearing soiled ones — 
Oh, I 'm a happy husband — nit! 

But worst of all has come at last; 

I saw it at a glance. 
D the New Woman, anyhow. 

When she wears your Sunday pants! 



51 



TO MADEMOISELLE 

LAST night I had a leetle dream, 
I dreamt, ma chere, of you. 
Ze leetle dream, ma foi, how sweet — 
But not so sweet que vous. 

I thought I was a golden bee 
Wizin a garden plein de fleurs; 

Je flew bien vite to kiss a rose, 

But kissed instead your lips, mon dieu! 

Adieu, adieu, mon leetle dream! 

Nous verrons — we shall see. 
Some day, perhaps, je serai brave — 

Allons! I play ze bee! 



52 



SMOKY FANCIES 

WHAT do I see in my cigarette smoke 
As it floats from my lips in the air ? 
A wind-drifted cloud in a summer sky, 
Or the foam of the waves in the mer ? 

What do I see in the vapory cloud 

That circles around my head ? 
A hangman's noose, or a kingly crown, or 

A winding shroud for the dead ? 

You ask what I see in my cigarette smoke 
That waves into clouds from my lips ? 

The hand of the ' ^ Poker Fiend ' ' opposite me 
That rakes in the last of my chips ! 



53 



ONE ON ME 

"TTERE 'S the latest book of poems, just out. 

1 1 Won't you take a look at it, sir ? " she said. 
I glared from my desk that was strewn about 

And piled with papers as high as my head. 
I confess, I felt cross; was much put out 

At being disturbed, and my mail not read. 
" Confound all poetry! " I yelled. " I doubt 

If you know," said she, and her cheeks grew red, 
" They are the poems of David Cory! " 

I clung to the desk, I swayed in my chair; 
At last my poems were gaining glory! 
" Put me down for ten," I said right away. 

Then a glad smile rippled up to her hair, 
"Thanks," she said, '' first ever I sold. Good-day! 



54 



ONE ON HIM 

CONFOUND this turkey! " Mr. Newly wed cries, 
As vainly to carve a drumstick he tries. 
" The meat is so tough, 1 don't think it 's done. 
I wish you 'd discharge the cook with a gun! " 
" The turkey 's all right," replies his fond wife, 
*' But, dear, you 're using the back of the knife! " 



55 



SUSAN 

SUSAN was an awful swell 
And thought of naught but clothes. 
She was the best-dressed girl in town, 
And had a string of beaux. 

Of apples dried she was so fond 

That once she ate a pound, 
And then she was the swellest girl 

For many miles around ! 



56 



THE NIGHT BEFORE XMAS 



O 



,H, REALLY, it is shocking, 

When you 're an old-maid's stocking, 
To find yourself a-hanging on the wall; 
And to know you 're all alone 
Without a chaperone, 
When the clock is striking midnight in the hall. 

O dear, I feel so thin 

When a leg is not within 
And no garter binds me tight above the knee! 

O my heart, I hear a noise! 

How I tremble as I poise, 
For I am but a stocking, as you see. 

heavens! where 's my fan! 

1 'm blushing all I can; 
Though 't is only Santa Claus, 

He 's a man ! 



57 



A DEAR LITTLE THING! 

THE dearest thing! 
So quaint and rare; 
With what a jaunty grace 

It perches on my golden hair; 
It does become my face. 

(What my wife said to me.) 

The dearest thing to me this spring, 
Tho' there 's almost nothing on it. 

What shall I do when the bill comes 
In for that new Easter bonnet! 
(What I said to myself.) 



Haste little Love away to play, 
Nurse Time will want thee soon. 



58 



MODESTY 

SWEETHEART dear, what shall I name thee 
In this lover's lay of mine ? 
Fearful lest thy lips might blame me, 
Choose a name to fill the line. 

Bashfully she bent her head, 

Cheeks with blushes rife. 
List to what the maiden said — 

" Call me — call me wife ! " 



59 



LOVE AT COLLEGE 

HE is a '97 man; 
A handsome lad and free. 
A bit too fond of poker and 
" Your health! " in eau de vie. 

His cuts are on the debit side; 

A billet doux a bill; 
Conditions stare him in the face, 

And yet he *11 laugh, and fill 

His nicotine-hued meerschaum, 
And swear he won't be bored; 

Then sit and puff, and dream 

Of girls whom he has once adored. 

And he always ends by saying 
He thinks, more than the rest. 

That the little College Widow 
He really loves the best. 

" She was a trump to pay that bill! " 

He mutters to himself. 
"No other girl would do it — 

But, then, she 's on the shelf! " 



60 



ALAS! 

THIS morning thro' the window 
I dreamt you floated in, 
An airy, dreamy, misty little spright, 
And straightway to my bedside 
You came with laughing face, 
And sitting up I caught you and held you warm and tight. 

Then I drew you swiftly closer 

And from your saucy mouth 
I thought to steal your kisses by the score, 

When, alas, my dream was broken 

By my chubby nephew calling, 
" Merrie Xmas, Uncle! " outside my chamber door. 



6i 



MY LITTLE FASHION SAINT 

IT doth become thee well, my dear, 
Thy Easter bonnet quaint, 
A dainty bit of halo for 

My little Fashion Saint. 
Tho' but a je ne sais quoi wreath 

That decks thy pretty head, 
With golden hair a-peeping thro* 

Like radiant sunbeams shed; 
Tho' but a little simple thing, 

I know it cost a pile; 
And till I get a raise, my dear, 
Tho' Easter comes but once a year, 

I won't propose a while! 



62 



SING A SONG OF NOAKES' 

SING a song of Noakes' 
And a pretty girl, 
With a smile that coaxes, 
Showing every pearl. 

Sing of cheeks — pink posies ; 

Wayward jet-black tress; 
Sing of lips, red roses, 

Ripe for love's caress. 

Sing you of your " Baby," 

Your " Peach," your " Bud," your " Pearl," 
Sing I of Fedora, 

Who sets my heart awhirl. 



63 



TO FEDORA 

YOU wear a new hat now, my dear, 
But where 's the one of gray — 
That gray fedora one you wore 
A week ago to-day ? 

The one you 're wearing now is chic; 

But, oh, that tint of gray 
Became your dimpled rosy cheeks 

In such a charming way. 

Whene'er I saw a gray chapeau, 

A maiden, neat and trim, 
I looked to find the sunshine of 

Your face beneath the brim. 



64 



PHYLIS 

FAIR Phylis made a bet that she — 
The saucy flirt — would conquer me, 
Would make me fall on bended knee 
Before her in a week. 

I took the bet, and bravely strove 
To utter naught of words of love, 
Tho' oft my strength she 'd laughing prove 
With rosy lip and cheek. 

The week was almost past when I 
Suggested that the ice we try — 
Should with the fleeting moments vie 
Upon the frozen places. 

We glided up and down the pond. 
Deep in the shadows, then beyond 
To where the moon with golden wand 
Made bright the frosty laces. 

Alas, that I so boastfully 
Had heralded my mastery! 
I slipped upon the icy sea — 

Ye gods and little fishes! 

Her victory indeed complete! 
Such luck did ever mortal meet 
To find himself thrown at her feet 
Against his very wishes ? 



65 



H 



THE FLIRT 

E takes her hand — she takes his heart — for keeps; 

Another wins her heart, but keeps his own; alas, 

she weeps 
To think she could not get 
The other heart within her net. 



66 



REMINISCENCES 

MY dearest Maud: " 
(At sight of her dear precious name 
Such visions fill the room, 
I only sit and reminisce, 
Until the deep'ning gloom 

Awakes me from my reveries 
To don again the plume.) 

" My dearest Maud, 

I love . . ." 
(Again I pause. That little word 
My lonely heart has deeply stirred, 

As on that day 
When at her feet I said my prayer 
Of love, and found my answer there 
In eyes of gray. 

(Dear one, why did we ever part ? 
Why did you send me back my heart ? 

You never really did; 
You have it yet, my sweet, I trow, 
For no one else has it, I know. 

So very safely hid.) 



67 



68 REMINISCENCES 

(There goes the clock — 
'T is striking one! 

And here 's my letter 
Not half done.) 

" My dearest Maud: 
I love you yet. 
Say, let 's forgive, 

And let 's forget. 
O keep my heart — 

Don't send it back, 
Because it comes 
From 

Your true 
Jack." 



LOVE'S BARGAIN 

A KISS! a kiss! 
My kingdom for a kiss! " he cried. 
" Where is it, may I ask ? ** she sighed. 

" Across in sunny Spain." 
" So very far away ? " said she, 

" I fear you ask in vain; 
I will not barter kisses, Sir, 
For such uncertain gain! " 

" My love a kingdom is! " cried he. 

" Ah, that is worth far more," said she. 

The kiss is his; 

Love's kingdom hers to reign. 



69 



A MODERN RAPUNSEL 

" T ET down thy tresses. Love," I sang 

I ^ Beneath her latticed casement, 
"And I will woo thee, gentle dove, 
With kisses soft and words of love. 
Let down thy strands of golden hair 
And I will climb to thee, my fair, 
My starry-eyed Rapunsel! " 
She heard my love-impassioned cry, 
And leaning from her window high, 
Said, while the silvery moonbeams kissed her, 
" Great Scott! I 'm not a Sutherland Sister! " 



70 



THE RIVALS 

MR. HOBSON, Mr. Hobson, 
You 've a rival in the field, 
The kissing-bug is on the wing, 
To him you now must yield. 

Tho' no Santiago hero 
And a protege of Fame — 

Tho' he never killed a Spaniard — 
He gets there just the same. 

He does n't wait for kisses — 
Like a statue stand and wait — 

He gets a great big hustle on 
From early until late. 

He busses every girl he sees. 

And wonderful to tell, 
Each merry maiden he has kissed 

Becomes an awful swell ! 

Look to your laurels, Hobson, 
And if you find this bug 

Can beat your game of kissing. 
Why — invent a Hobson Hug! 



71 



MY HEIR 

WHERE did you get those eyes of blue, baby, I 
wonder ? 
Not from your mother — hers are brown — mine, black as 

thunder. 
But that little red mouth of yours saying " goo-goo," 
And those tiny tight yellow curls. Mother gave you ; 
Also that nose of yours. Now, what did I 
Give to you baby ? There, there now, don't cry! 
Come, come, you " little pink bundle of yell," 
Keep quiet, confound it — you quiet him, Nell! 
Thank Heaven, this rascal got nothing from me! 
** Except your sweet temper, Ned," smiling, said she! 



/2 



CUPID'S MISS 

DAN CUPID took his wheel one day 
To catch a cycle maiden, 
He loitered on the boulevard 
For one with beauty laden. 

At last he spied a lovely bud, 

Who set his heart on fire, 
He raised his bow, the maiden missed, 

But punctured deep her tire. 

" That horrid tack! " My Lady cried, 

While Cupid ran away. 
" The cycle girl is arrow-proof! " 

I heard the youngster say. 



73 



THE MODERN GIRL 

ONCE I really thought I had her securely on the 
string — 
This little unsophisticated peach. 
But, alas, she 's coyly clinging to her leafy bough, and 
swinging 
Above my rattled noddle, out of reach ! 

As I wandered thro' the orchard I spied the lovely thing, 
With rounded, ruddy, rosy, ruby cheek. 

And I said, "I '11 have that beauty; yes, it shall be 
Cupid's duty 
To help me get that peachlet in a week." 

So, armed with bow and arrow, Dan Cupid hand in hand 
With me went to the orchard for our prey. 

We shot off every arrow, but we never harmed a sparrow. 
While the peachlet danced with laughter at our play. 

" You 're a hoodoo, Mr. Cupid — can't shoot a little bit! " 
And I pushed away this amorous little dandy. 

" The only way to reach that saucy little peach 
Is to sling a box of Huyler's chocolate candy! " 



74 



WHY? 

I WISH they would invent a tie — 
The kind of tie I mean 
That would not twist her collar round 
And 'neath her ear be seen. 

I wish a shirt-waist could be found — 

The kind of waist I mean 
That would not bunch up from the skirt 

And leave a space between. 

And then I wish they 'd make a skirt 

For " bikers " fat and lean, 
That would not like a curtain rise 

And show a ballet queen. 

I wish — but never mind the wish; — 
If all these shocks we needs must feel, 

Why does it never happen that 
You see ^.pretty girl awheel ? 



75 



AN UNCONCIOUS PROPOSAL 

OVER the keys her fingers whirred 
Like fluttering wings of a snow-white bird, 
As he stood by her side and watched her there, 
With her fair young face and her hazel hair. 
And he lost himself as with quickening breath 
He ended the note: " Yours, Mamie, till death!" 
With a startled look she gazed in his face — 
And — well, there 's a typewriter in her place! 



76 



ROCKAWAY 

AT Rockaway the tide comes in 
With breezes from the ocean, 
And like a lover woos the strand 

A-tremble with emotion. 
The shadows creep along the beach, 

And over land and sea 
A pale pink mist — a sea-shell's glow — 
Comes ever silently. 

At Rockaway the night comes down 

And folds the silent land. 
The madcap waves, now lonely grown. 

Are nestling to the sand. 
The silver moon a silvery path 

Throws o'er the sleeping bay — 
The ocean rocks the world to sleep 

At Rockaway. 



77 



TO LITA 

TO kiss a Primrose! — Ah, alas! 
The summer wind grows chill! 
A primrose nodded 'neath the grass 

And smiled at me — until . 

I stooped to pluck the pretty thing — 

Yes, love indeed is blind — 
No more a warm red flower there — 
A frozen bud I find. 



78 



FEBRUARY XIV 

WHEN Cupid was a simple youth, 
Unused to wealth's inventions, 
He thought a paper valentine 
Quite up to his pretensions. 

But now, forsooth, the naughty boy 

Assumes a blase tone. 
The dear old-fashioned valentine 

He thinks he has outgrown. 

Hence Cupe must oft to Thorley go 

To buy expensive roses; 
For at the old-time tinsel heart 

The maids turn up their noses. 

But for my part give me the girl 
Who loves the dear old line, 

" The rose is red, the violet blue," 
Upon her valentine. 



79 



THE FIRST VALENTINE 

" nPHE rose is red, the violet blue "- 

1 How well do I recall 
Those words that first I sent to you 
When both of us were small. 

When both of us were young, my dear, 
And love was just in bloom, 

And Cupid on that valentine 

Was armed with bow and plume. 

In memory still that paper lace 
Is blooming gay with flowers; 

It seems to me but yesterday 
We passed those happy hours. 

The rose is red, the violet blue. 

Dear tender first love's line! 
To me you are the sweetest words 

On any valentine. 



80 



HEARTS 

" T TEARTS! hearts for sale! " cried Cupid, 
1 1 " Who '11 buy a heart of me ? 

I 've little hearts and big hearts 
In great variety. 

And some are mild and some intense — 

Who '11 buy a heart at small expense ? " 

" Give me that great big red one," 

Quoth a little maiden fair, 
" I 'm sure the man who owns that heart 

Is bold to do and dare. 
His hand I know is large and broad — 
Soft at caresses, quick at the sword." 

" What! that one here ? " cried Cupid, 

" A blunder on my part. 
'T is not for sale, a year ago 

A woman stole that heart. 
And yesterday among some things 
I found this heart with broken strings." 

" I 'm so sorry, Mr. Cupid, 

I — I stole that very heart, 
And afterwards I lost it — 

'T was careless on my part. 
I want it back so much," she sighed — 
And here the little maiden cried. 
6 8i 



82 HEARTS 

" There, there, don't weep," said Cupid, 
"You may have it once again — 

But see you keep it carefully, 
For hearts are hearts, and men 

Have only one, so learn your part — 

To hold a man you must keep his heart." 



AN EXPERIMENT 

1SENT my love a valentine 
To test her heart's devotion. 
I was a wild conceited poet — 
Plague take the foolish notion. 

Why did I not as former years 
Send her the usual flowers ? 

I sent instead a rhyme of love 
On which I wasted hours. 

I thought that she was different from 

The other girls I knew, 
But found, alas! to my chagrin, 

She knew a thing or two. 

Next day I met her on the street, 

I got a freezing glance. 
She sallied by upon the arm 

Of something dressed in pants. 

That simpering dude had wiser been 

And sent a box of posies. 
Alas ! that I had thought my poem 

Could equal Thorley's roses. 



83 



TO BEATRICE 

THOUGHTFUL eyes of dusky shade 
Make me for my soul afraid. 
Bosom with celestial snow 
Chance of Paradise forego. 
Passion lips whose crimson charm 
Thro' my blood sends wild alarm. 
Wondrous hair, whose raven wing 
Fragrant whispers harboring. 
Sweet completeness, wherein lies 
Undreamed, unsung Paradise. 
Sweetheart, dear heart, tenderest 
Woman in this world's unrest, 
Let these simple lines of mine 
Be a poor poet's valentine. 



84 



MIRAGE 

HOPE is a fleeting will-o'-the-wisp, 
Trust her not at all; 
Remember that she only leads 
Where the shadows fall. 



85 



TRANSPLANTED 

ALONG a winding country road I found a wild-rose 
growing. 
So fair and sweet it seemed to me 'mid Nature's rustic 
posies, 
I stooped me down beside it, while the clover's breath 
was blowing — 
I will take it home and plant it in my garden of red 
roses. 

Then farther down the road I saw 

A sun-kissed daughter of the farm 
Come running out from porch-crowned door, 

With water-pail upon each arm. 

Near the well I paused and watched her; 

O 'er the fast decaying place, 
Youthful beauty leaning, laughing 

At the fair reflected face 
Smiling to her from the mirror 

In the bucket's close embrace. 
I will woo and take her homeward ; 

This no spot for budding grace. 

Soon the fragrance of the rose-bed in my garden kept 
with care 

86 



TRANSPLANTED 87 

*Gan to stifle and to smother my wild-rose that was so 

fair. 
And the wildness of her beauty lost its charm 'mid 

flowers rare. 
She was dying for the sighing of the grasses by the road, 
And the murmur of the wild-bee with his honey-scented 

load. 

And the maid whose rustic beauty charmed my eye when 

at the well, 
Drest in velvets, silks, and laces, lost her own peculiar 

spell, 
And her beauty faded, faded, like the tune of some sweet 

bell. 



GEORGE DU MAURIER 

OF the artist-poet the world is bereft. 
And yet not dead, when to us he has left 
A shining light in the dim halls of Time; 
The work of a hand and a soul sublime. 

No, never dead, when the soul of the man 
Shines from the pages our eager eyes scan! 
No, never dead, when the throb of his heart 
Of the words he has writ is parcel and part! 

And, as we pass thro' these corridors gray 
And wist not if life hath another day, 
Shall we be content, when decreed is our fate. 
To leave naught behind but a name and a date ? 



FIRST LOVE 

I'VE hung me a picture upon the wall; 
A portrait I 've painted of my first love. 
No one may enter the room where the smile 

Of her face beams down from the dark above, 
For closed are the windows and barred the door. 

But when all is quiet I take the key 
And turn me the lock of that sacred room — 

The shrine of the love that came first to me — 
And before her portrait I stand and gaze; 

The time comes back that has winged away and 
I walk by her side in the autumn haze, 

Yes, I hear her voice and I feel her breath 
Upon my cheek like the wind in the fall. 

Ah, first love is best, is truest — sweetest! 
I have hung me a picture upon the wall 

Of the little room in my heart. 



89 



LIKE AS THE TROUBLED WAVES 

LIKE as the troubled waves make for the restful land, 
Or weary breezes for the quiet glades, 
My spirit reaches out for thee. I stand 
Uncertain of myself; the twilight fades 
And thro' the scented silence of Night's shades 
A bird is calling softly for her mate. 

Dear one, stretch forth thy hand 
And lead me thro' the gate, 

And let thy garden be our world. 



Love me much, if but a day. 



90 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES is dead; is dead! 
No more in our ranks will his manly tread 
Keep our lagging steps to the time ; 

Set the pace for our wavering feet. 
No more will his lips mid the daily strife 
Arouse our souls to a better life, 
Urge us a higher plane to climb 

Where more glorious visions meet 
Our earth-accustomed eye. 
No more — no more; and yet the memory 

Of the man shall reign supreme 
Within each heart. 

Awake! awake! from idle dream 
Of life. Awake, each one to do his part 
As he, who toils no more! 



91 



AND YET 

THE time I 've spent in drinking 
Has often set me thinking 
That I 'm an ass to sip the glass 
Till eyes of mine are blinking. 

And so, O hopeful heart of mine, 
I swear I '11 never touch the wine; 
Good-bye regret — and yet — and yet- 
The jag I now have is divine. 



92 



WHAT 'S THE USE? 

WHAT 'S the use- 
Half the world has played its part- 
Other half will soon depart, 
To play the same old thing again 
Seems so stale — and then 
What 's the use ? 

What 's the use 
Of woman's love — love 's the deuce 
Before it 's over — the excuse 
That you thought you loved is lame, 
So you wearily exclaim 

What 's the use ? 

What 's the use 
Of new sensations, when you cry 
This is love, then wonder why 
Love should hurt — when the pain 
Swallows all the seeming gain 

What 's the use ? 

What 's the use ? 
He who drinks must pay the fine. 
While the sparkle 's on the wine 
Toss up which — a smile or scowl — 
Swear you 're happy — soon you '11 growl 

What 's the use ? 
93 



94 WHAT'S THE USE? 

What 's the use 
If last night you were a king, 
Owned this footstool — anything 
When you wake you '11 gladly steal 
Just yourself again to feel — 

So — what 's the use ? 

What 's the use 
Always saying, " What 's the use " ? 
Press the grape and drink the juice 
Till you drown this old excuse, 

What 's the use ? 



A MEMORY 

UNDER my study window 
A hand-organ old is at play, 
Grinding an old-fashioned tune 
In an old-fashioned way. 

Well I remember that song — 

Was it but yesterday ? 
I am a boy once again, 

Careless and gay. 

Into my window the wind 

Blows with the salt from the spray ; 
Into my heart creeps the song 

Like the tide in the bay. 

Ah, little laughing soubrette, 

Time hastens, too brief is youth's day. 
Only my heart and the organ 

Cherish your lay. 



95 



DESPAIR 

1 STAND upon the sheltered rock, 
The spot we used to know — 
And watch the tide coming rushing in 
Upon the sand below. 

How boastfully it clasps the shore, 
This wild tempestuous sea! 

Its only care to waste itself 
In foaming ecstasy. 

I sit and muse, nor heed the day 

Clings to the dying sun — 
I only see the hopeless waves 

Retreating one by one. 



96 



THE MASTER ARTIST 

" "n\EAR rose," to the flower I whispered, 
I J "The pink of your petals I seek; 

I 'm painting a picture of Nora, 

With girlhood's first blush on her cheek. 

" And, violet sweet, have you heeded 
Her eyes ? They 're so tender and blue 

I can find no color to match them, 
Unless I may borrow of you. 

" For her forehead and throat so fair 
I have come, O white lily, to you ; 

For there is no tint to compare 
With the beauty of purity's hue." 

And the buttercup gave, for the asking, 
All her gold, far more precious than pearls. 

To make perfect my portrait of Nora's 
" Little head sunning over with curls." 

But, ere the portrait was finished, 

One greater than I in the art, 
Love, Master Artist, had pictured 

Her face in the shrine of my heart. 



97 



AT THE CONFESSIONAL 

A TALL slim slip of a girl is she; 
And yet she hath the air 
('T is strange in one so young) 

To do or dare 
A dangerous thing if needs must be- 
But there, 
Such idle thoughts are not for me — 
A priest with vows of ministry. 



RECOGNITION 

BENEATH, the dead in earthen bed 
Lie sleeping, while the stars o'erhead 
Look down upon the pulseless throng, — 
Amen to fight twixt right and wrong. 

Some day to lie there with that band, 
A part and parcel of the land 
Whose fruitful womb may rear the seed 
I 've sown with hopes beyond a weed. 

Ah me, 't is hope that lights the stars 
To smile on us behind the bars; 
And if past death my flower bloom, 
O kindly lay it on my tomb. 



99 



LofC. 



AD FINEM 

WHEN joyous Death runs to me and with magic 
hand 
Severs the thong that binds my soul to earth, 
Let there be music — not the notes of mirth, 
But rather some long-treasured air 
Of youth — the song my fair 
Sweet mother used to sing. And while 
She woke the blending chords, she 'd smile 
And o'er her shoulder throw a loving nod — 
Let this song usher me to God. 



MAUD 

AUD is at the garden gate, 
A red rose in her hair; 
She will not have long to wait 
Ere he will meet her there. 



M 



Ah, she never thinks of late — 

Neither does she care — 
It was I who o'er the gate 

Once would kiss her there. 

Maud is at the garden gate, 

A fresh rose in her hair; 
Will he have as long to wait 

Ere to kiss he dare ? 

Often laugh I at my fate, 

Swear I do not care : 
There are others I can mate; 

Others just as fair. 

But the subtle, dying fragrance 
Of that first rose in her hair 

Flaunts me, taunts me, ever haunts me 
Since I placed it there. 



DESOLATION 

I WANT to see her face again, 
I want to see her smile; 
To hold her dear true hand in mine, 
To sit and dream awhile. 

To sit and dream awhile with her — 
Just know that she is there; 

To feel the silence throbbing with 
Our first-love's perfect prayer. 

To look in eyes that answer mine 
With Heaven's honest blue; 

To feel again my boyhood's faith — 
To know one woman true. 

I want her smile, her lips — herself, 

Else all the world I lack, 
I want to breathe her breath — I want- 

I want God's Woman back. 



LOVE'S SEASONS 

Y golden one, my summer sun, 
My apricot of sweetness, 
With thee, my dove, my first-born love 
Shall blossom to completeness. 



M' 



Tho' summer die and violet sky 
'Mid misty shrouds of autumn, 

Thine eyes, dear one, will need no sun 
To tell the violet sought them. 

Let autumn ways of tinted haze 

The hilly snow-drift cover, 
Thy hills of snow my lips shall know, 

And rose-buds there discover. 

The Winter Wind may shake the blind 
And whistle 'round the corner, 

Within thy arms thy magic charms 
Shall make my blood run warmer. 

And when the spring on swallow's wing 
Awakes the bud that lingers, 

Upon thy breast our first-love's guest 
Shall press his baby fingers. 



103 



ALLUREMENT 

ACROSS the damp, dank meadow grass, 
Beyond the swamp-land glades, 
A star from heaven is stooping down 
To light the sombre shades. 

At times so near, and then, alas! 

Across the mirrored streams 
It trembles, like the ecstasy 

Of unawakened dreams. 

Alluring, restless star lead on, 
Nor heed the night wind sighs. 

Will-o'-the-wisp, to where thou wilt. 
Thou light of her dear eyes. 



104 



AFTERWARDS 

COME, artist, paint me a portrait — 
(Dream pictures pale with time) 
For love will lose the music 
That lends the lilting rhyme. 

Paint, like a crimson poppy, 

Upon each cheek a blush ; 
The rest of the face cold white, 

Like snow in the midnight hush. 

Her eyes, a brown, and wide apart. 
With the depth of quiet grief; 

And give the brows a downward slant 
Till they meet the poppy leaf. 

Her mouth — wait, let me linger here. 
For it used to change so oft, 

I would have the mould I loved the best 
When she kissed me long and soft. 

At times her lips would tremble, 
And a jealous love conceal — 

Ah, make it a rose that 's cleft 
In twain by anger's ruthless steel. 
105 



I06 AFTERWARDS 

You may paint her hair a chestnut, 
Or brown if you wish to — so 

That the rippling waves of tresses 
Will hold the red sun's glow. 

A full-length portrait, all of her 

Body, white as the throne of God — 

She whom I 've loved — and hated — and lost 
Thro' being a doubting clod. 



WOOING-TIM£ 

THE wild rose smiled from the fringe all day 
That skirted the dusty, dry roadway; 
And the golden-rod with his breath of flame 
Cried out his passion in love's sweet name. 
But they waited until the summer sky 
Had hid 'neath the hill her golden eye. 

Polly and John in the creaking chaise 
Are careless of Dobbin's lagging ways. 
The evening breeze with its perfume sweet 
Comes murmuring over the ripening wheat. 
The day is done and the vesper calm 
Is folding the fields and clustering farm; 
And beyond the eastern meadow bar 
The sky is nursing the first-born star. 



107 



ALL THE YEAR ROUND 

WHEN South Wind blows soft blooms the rose 
Within her garden walls, 
And nods and smiles with crimson wiles 
When Robin Redbreast calls. 

The Lily slight in robe of white 

Bends graceful on her stalk, 
As Monsieur Breeze with rustling leaves 

Comes gayly up the walk. 

Now Xmas here, the garden drear, 

'Neath mistletoe beguiling 
My lily trips, and rose-bud lips 

At me are coyly smiling. 



io8 



FALLING HEAVENWARD 

/"^OD created a perfect woman, 
^^ But the Devil wooed and won. 
The eyes of a fallen angel 

Have a wondrous depth. Sad Nun, 
Alas! tho' you heard the singing 

Of the lark at heaven's gate, 
You fell at the song of your lover, 

Breast to breast, insatiate! 



Ah, no, 't is not to the woman 

Who rests on her heights sublime, 
And with moral passion bids 

Us love's starry paths to climb, 
But to her who drags her heaven 

Down to earth for love, belongs 
The soul of our inspirations — 

The heart of our sweetest songs. 



109 



NIGHT 

THE day is done, and Night from cave and nook 
Steals forth; and with a silent, stealthy tread 
Thro' streets fast dark'ning bears away the dead 
Day; lived and loved and done, like tale in book. 
Like eagle swift with talon and with hook. 
She clutches fast the sky and drags it down — 
A sable canopy above the town 

Whose shadow falls where smiled the glad day's look. 
Above the ragged line of house-tops rise 
The tall church spires to the low rimmed skies, 
Like tent-poles, holding up the dim, dark dome. 
The belfry chimes; the owl goes forth to roam; 
And save the sometime bark of dog, no rude 
Disturbance breaks the dusky solitude. 



THE RAINBOW 

IT soon will rain, for like a hunted herd 
Of dark-hide buffaloes across a plain 
That sparkled where the daisies now lie slain, 
A mass of thunder-bellowing clouds are spurred 
Across the sky. The lightning cuts the rain 
Like arrow slung from red-man's bow, 
And finds the oak's stout heart, and lays it low; 
And crash of oak and thunder sounds. Again 
The Storm twangs forth his arrow from the cloud 
That stands a breastwork hard against the grim 
High frowning mountain-tops and cries aloud 
Among their crevices and caverns dim. 
At last, grown sick of war, he hangs his bow 
On eastern wall to catch the sunset's glow. 



WORLDLINGS 

WHEN from my window I look to the street, 
And see a little world unto himself 
In ev'ry passer-by; the love of pelf, 
The love of self, first aim for pleasure sweet, 
I would I were away in safe retreat 
Of glade or fairy-land, where some spry elf 
Would bring me elfin wine to lose myself, 
And see no more the Bad the Good defeat. 
The little acts of charity and love 
In this great teeming city are so rare 
That I, who freshly start, oft long for air 
That blows 'tween grass-green sod and blue above. 
I am half-stifled with the waste of breath 
For Self — that Self that ends so soon in death. 



M' 



TO A FLIRT 

AID of the downward glance and laughing red, 
Sweet mouth, how is it thou hast won my heart ? 
'T is strange, 't is passing strange I ne'er can part 
From thought of thee. Thy face beams o'er my bed 
At night with all its witchery. I 'm led 
All day to thee in fancy sweet. Depart ! 
Depart! thou roguish face, for Cupid's dart, 
Tho* wounding me, hath found her not. I said 
I ne'er would love fair maid that loved not me; 
Would be no sad, tear-eyed, love-fevered swain; 
And true, I am not thus : but O the pain — 
The sweet-and-bitter pain — to ever see 
Her face in all things, and, alas! to know 
Her heart with love for me will never glow ! 



"3 



AN AUTUMN DAY 

THE autumn air is mild and soft and sweet, 
The hills are mounted with a purple haze, 
Against the crimson of the woodland ways 
The tawny yellow of the fields of wheat. 
Deserted corn-stalks with their tassels brown 
Complain with quavering tone the wanton wind. 
The poppies in their beds awake to find 
Upon their sleepy heads a frosty crown. 
Along the dusty road Sir Golden-Rod 
To Black-Eyed Susan nods and smiles away. 
The nimble squirrel dances on the rail 
Half hid by sweet wild rose in pink array. 
And now the Western Sun, a globe of red. 
Sinks o'er the mountain's brim and ends the day. 



114 



THOUGHTS 

WHAT friends you are to me in idle hours, 
What coigns of vantage have I gained thro' you, 
Whence I may take an unobstructed view, 
And undismayed gaze o'er the world's high towers; 
Or else I 'm led by you to sylvan bowers 
Where midst the verdant shade my fancy springs 
And, unabashed by eye of critic, sings 
Its simple song of summer skies and flowers. 

My ever ready friends whose generous hands 
Stretch out to meet mine own when sorrow comes. 
To lead me from the world that frets and hums, 
To mountain heights, where bright-eyed Fortune stands 
And cries to me to drink of Hope's clear stream — 
Then earth's defeats seem but a passing dream. 



"5 



INSPIRATION 

ALINE of sand with jutting rocks rough-strewn, 
The ceaseless licking of the watery tongue, 
Now lapping when a soft, mild air is sung. 
Now frothing when the wind 's a wilder tune. 
An empty shell the same old song doth croon, 
The fiddlers creep their sandy cells among; 
A sea-gull passes, from its wing is flung 
A feather white upon the sandy dune. 

I sit and watch the changing aspect, yet 
The never-changing sea; his steadfast aim 
That somehow, sometime he shall wind his arms 
About the long-desired land to hold and claim. 
Ah, restless sea, teach me thy great unrest. 
To strive with faith like thine within my breast. 



ii6 



SONNET 

THE jocund Day with mischief in her eyes 
Slips thro' the misty curtains of the Night, 
And throws upon the world her glances bright. 
She smiles and lighter grow the sombre skies. 
Before the rosy Maid the mist-cloud flies 
And leaves the valley bathed in golden light, 
Then fades in azure on a mountain height; 
And now the last pale star in silence dies. 

But amorous Night at length impatient grows 

And at horizon's gate, their trysting place. 

Expectant waits to clasp in his embrace 

The fair young Day. She comes, and now he throws 

His sable cloak about her, while her face 

She softly hides and sinks to sweet repose. 



"7 



REDEEMED 

WITHIN the church the altar there 
To me seems but a gilded chair. 
The pomp, the images, the roll 
Of Latin words touch not my soul. 

The incense veiling Christ's pale face 
Seems lacking apostolic grace. 
A Pariah in the place I stand, 
Save for the clasp of her dear hand. 

The altar of my daily prayer 
Is her pure breast. Her fragrant hair 
The incense of a prayer divine — 
Her clinging arms my ivory shrine. 

Thro' her dear love I deem it much 
The garment of my Lord to touch. 



ii8 



DREAMERS 

THE mist from the river creeps into the town 
And filters thro' crevice and cranny, 
Dim grows the landscape — the green and the brown 
Are turned to a gray, and a leaf falling down 
Looks like a gray feather dropped from the wing 
Of this Mist Bird from seaward — an uncanny thing. 
In the silence I dream, while the candles of night 
Like fire-flies glow thro' the curtains of mist. 
The day has departed and far out of sight 
Some other world wakens anew with its light: 
Some other man wakens — and often it seems 
Accomplishes all we have dared in our dreams. 



119 



iQi 



